


Aces Over Eights

by Beatriceorme



Category: Brokeback Mountain (2005)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 15:07:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beatriceorme/pseuds/Beatriceorme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dead Man's hand</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aces Over Eights

**"Aces Over Eights"**  
  
“Ah, fuck! So…mmmmm…never get enough…Shit!...you…and this…always...want it like this…you and me…oh, god! Could be like…like this always. Be a…close, so fuckin’ close…you and me… be a sweet life.”  
  
“Shit! Yes…yes…you and me…fuckin’ yes! _Our_ sweet –”  
  
In one self-loathing heartbeat, _was gonna give it away, what’s meant t’ be me n’ Ennis’s, give it all away t’ someone else_ , Jack scrambled away.  
  
“You OK there?”  
  
“M’fine.”  
  
Jack discarded the lie without a thought, knowing the bluff would work. It always did. So many years spent at the table, erasing any sign, banishing every tell, until it wasn’t necessary to look at the cards anymore before placing his bet.  He came out a winner every time.  
  
“Then what’s got you so jumpy all of a sudden?”  
  
“Nothin’.”  
  
But, when the bank roll of deceit has run dry and the man whose good run of luck had relied on sunshine smiles and falsehoods wrapped up pretty as you please in half-truth ribbons is left holding nothing but _if only’s_ and _what ifs_ , it was time to step away and call the game done.  
  
“Come on, Jack.  Let’s finish what we started here.”  
  
This hand dealt – giving hollow reassurance while sitting on the edge of his lover’s marriage bed, a sticky fuck film drying on his skin – Jack palmed his last remaining chip, a teenager’s long ago dream, and folded for a pair of deuces.  
  
“Can’t do this no more.”  
  
“Can’t do what any more?”  
  
“This, all this.” Up off the bed quick as lightning, he dressed quickly, not bothering with underwear and socks, stuffing them instead in his pockets, the desire to leave, get out, to just start, like fire ants crawling everywhere, stinging and biting. _S’ not too late, never too late, that’s what my mama always said. Sure hope she was right._   “You n’ me, Randall. It’s over. I gotta go.”  
  
“What? Where the hell did this come from, Jack?” Wrapping up in a semen stained sheet, Randall crawled over to the edge and reached out to snag Jack, his after-sex glow flushed with concern. “For Christ’s sake, Jack, stop! Talk to me. Please!”  
  
“Nothin’ to talk ‘bout. Just changed my mind, that’s all.” A quick arm snap and Jack escaped Randall’s touch, choosing the chair furthest away from the bed to shove bare feet into brand new alligator skin boots, legs twitching with anticipation. There were important things to do, to take care of now and he didn’t want to waste one more second on yesterday’s mistakes. _Sure as hell got a shit load a those t' haul ‘round with me._ “Endin’ it all right here n’ now.”  
  
“Jesus Christ, five minutes ago I was buried balls deep in your ass! And now you’re sayin' goodbye?”  
  
“All wrong. Everythin’.” Keys. Jack couldn’t find his truck keys – not in his jacket, not on the nightstand, not even under the chair cushions that he tossed away annoyed at the delay. His mind made up, it was already 50 miles down the road and heading north. On hands and knees, he searched, squinting into the room’s sunset dimness and praying that he would soon feel the bite of metal on his hand. “Stupid. Irresponsible. Selfish.”  
  
“That sums up everythin' we had goin' on here to you? Irresponsible and selfish?” Randall’s lips cut a thin white line that disappeared deeper within his beard with each clipped and hurt word. “Us together was so stupid you just gonna’ walk out of here sayin' to hell with all we planned and no lookin’ back?”  
  
“Never shoulda’ started. Never shoulda’ been here at all.” He found the keys hiding under the corner of the kicked away comforter. His hat was easier to locate, placed on the Depression era dresser with all the reverence a Stetson deserves. “Wasn’t never really _here_ anyways.”  
  
“And where the hell were you, Jack, when we were fuckin’ like rabbits? Explain that one to me, ‘cause all your moanin' and groanin' sure as hell sounded like you were right there under me enjoying the ride just fine.”  
  
“Can’t deny it. Sex was good. Fuckin’ _great_ sometimes.” Wallet shoved in, watch on his left wrist. His wedding ring he dropped in a pocket. “But, that’s all we got, all we ever had, you n’ me.”  
  
“Sure meant more then just a coupla’ fucks to me, Jack.”  
  
“Just ain’t enough anymore, Randall. Sneakin’ n’ hiding. Comin’ up with new n' excitin’ fishin’ stories t' keep everybody thinkin’ the right thing when I ain’t touched a goddamn pole in over fifteen years.”  Jack wondered who that old man was looking back at him from the dresser’s cloudy mirror. Didn’t like him one bit, but he sure as hell knew how to make him disappear for good. “Been travelin’ down that road most a my life.  Now I’m just so goddamn tired of it all, I’m wantin’ t' pull off n' just stay in one place from now on.”  
  
“This place you want to stop at, you’re sayin’ it’s not me.”  
  
“No, it ain’t. Never was.” Hesitation in the doorway took Jack’s eyes to Randall’s where he met the all too familiar sting of rejection. “Never meant t’ cause you no pain, Randall. Lay everythin’ on my doorstep, ‘cause that’s where it belongs.” _You’d think after all the times I been shot down, I’d know the right words t’ say that would make it all easier t’ stand._ “I’m sorry for all a this, so fuckin’ sorry for everythin’.”  
  
“Goddamnit, Jack!” The crumpled sheet trailed out across the floor, Randall leaving it behind as he stormed forward to block Jack’s exit. “You tell me what the fuck’s goin’ on!”  
  
“Thought I made it crystal clear.”  He could hear the road calling out his name, telling him to ‘Shake a leg, git a move on, too much time’s been wasted already, for Christ’s sake!’ He tried to shove Randall out of the way, the desire to get going about to eat him alive. “You n' me is over.”  
  
“You better give me a damn good reason for all of this shit, Twist!” Knuckles bleached white when Randall latched on to Jack’s shoulders, holding him in place. “And don’t give me no lame bullshit about suddenly realizin' obligations and the sin of adultery and all that, ‘cause I know about Lureen n’ you -”  
  
“This ain’t got nothin’ t’ do with her.” Jack wondered where the guilt was over not thinking about his wife of seventeen years even once. _Well, not like I spark through her thoughts in a day’s time._ “That’s over a long time ago." But, Bobby – that was something else entirely. _Needs t' hear all this from his daddy._ “But, that doesn’t mean you n’ your wife can’t -”  
  
“Ah, fuck Lashawn!”  
  
Jack winced, taking in the irony of Randall’s curse. _That’s what I’m supposed t’ be doin’. How I wish t’ God I had._ “I’m leavin’. That’s that. Now, kindly let go.”  
  
But, he didn’t. If anything, Randall’s grip intensified, shoving back hard, pinning Jack to the wall, and there for a second or two, if the feral and injured look in those eyes was any indication,  a smart punch would soon be swinging Jack’s way.   
  
“Goddamn you, Jack Twist!  Fuckin’ hate you for this shit!”  
  
“Can’t be any more’n I hate myself, lyin' coward that I am. But, now I finally got the balls t’go n' set things a rights, n' nothin’ you or the law, or God neither can keep me from doin’ it this time.” Hands placed flush to Randall’s chest, Jack pushed out to be free. “Now, let me the hell go.”   
  
“Why?” Randall’s voice broke with barely contained desperation. “Why are you doin’ this, Jack?”  
  
“Why?”  
  
 _‘Cause I tried t' hold on t’ what everybody else said I should want but it never amounted t’ nothin' more than a place t’ hang my hat and a long wait for the next postcard.  All those times, goin' back n' forth, all those years leavin' pieces a my soul strung out along the highway each time I drove away ‘til there was hardly nothin' left t’ worry over, let alone drag through ‘nother day. Dreams a livin' with the one I love addin’ up t' sticky sheets almost every mornin' when the one I live with dreamin’ only a addin’ on another zero t' the profit side a the ledger._    
  
He just couldn’t do it again, walk back inside the prison of his own making. He couldn’t stomach one more second of the pretending, which wasn’t really pretending anymore ‘cause reality had moved into the Twist household years back, but just like with each other, neither he nor Lureen talked to it directly. He couldn’t face the silence that swallowed them all whole and stretched out the nights ‘til they were close to snapping. Those empty hours when he should’ve been sleeping, but lay alone next to his wife trying to find just one piece of himself that wasn’t tainted by complacency and surrender.   
  
_Randall might as well just kill me now, ‘cause if’n I got t’ go back there, I’d rather be dead._  
  
“‘Cause I’m goin' after that sweet life, n' I know just where t' find it. It ain’t here in Texas, n' it ain’t you. Now, let loose a me. _Please_.”  
  
One more vicious squeeze, then Randall shoved, bouncing Jack off the far wall, rattling teeth. The fight was coming now, and what parts hadn’t been cut to the quick with words would now be bloodied and bruised.   
  
_Had this comin’ for sure. You’re a fuckin’ bastard, ya know that, Twist?_    
  
But two steps closer, now nose to nose with Jack, fists clenched and ready, something melted in Randall, the fight draining right out of his eyes.  Nothing left there except resignation and defeat. He gagged – a small sound, raspy and pathetic - staggering back, using the wall to guide him down to the floor.  
  
 _Shit. I done this t’ him. Just one more unforgivable notch in my belt._ “Randall, I -”  
  
“Shut the fuck up and get out.”  
  
Jack turned to leave, ashamed at the small amount of remorse he was feeling about it all.  
  
“Just tell me one thing, Twist.” Randall’s voice echoed off the pine floor boards. “Where in the hell are you escapin' to?”  
  
“Home.”  
  
“Wyomin'?” A snort accompanied his sneer. “This magical place of yours, where everythin’ is gonna be right again is Lightnin’ Flat?”  
  
“Goin' t’ Wyomin', yes. But, Lightnin’ Flat ain’t been my home since the summer a nineteen sixty-three.  Goodbye.”  
  
Jack walked alone to the front door, knowing that Randall wasn’t going to do the honors of seeing him out.  
  
In the driveway, the humidity slammed down hard, plastering heavy denim to places that would rather swing free, requiring a period of adjustment before climbing into his new F-150. Even though Jack wanted nothing more than to turn left out of here and just keep going, heading straight to the outskirts of Riverton, he figured the smart thing would be to stop off at the house one more time, gather a few things, grab some traveling money, have that talk with Bobby first. Giving the finger to Childress, Texas could wait until morning.  
  
 _Goddamn! But, it’s gonna be hard waitin’ t’ see the look on his face when I show up smilin'._  
  
Wasn’t expecting a grand reception when he arrived up there, experience teaching Jack what was what concerning that whole subject. But, that didn’t bother him in the least. There was no comparison between here and there. A ten minute trip across town or a sixteen hour trek across three states. The chance to be together if not every day, then at least on weekends and holidays as opposed to three stolen weeks a year. And Jack was willing to bet that when and where ever they managed, it would at least be warmer then that tent.  
  
 _Whatever he shouts at me, just gonna tell ‘em, “Tough shit, Ennis. I’m here, n' that’s that. I’m never leavin’ again, no matter how hard you try t’ get rid a me.”_  
  
Key in the ignition, the engine roared to life and Jack put the truck into drive, his smile bright enough to illuminate August’s twilight.   
  
_Lucky Jack Twist is headin’ home!_  
  
  
  
  
  
******  
  
Randall almost hung up twice, his resolve crackling and breaking up just like the lousy reception on the radio station playing in his ear. But, as he watched the billow of dust tossed around by the disappearing Ford settle back to the cabin’s gravel drive, bitterness wormed its way in, coloring and changing things, eroding the foundation of sweet memories until everything collapsed into formless lumps that his resentment found it easy to sweep aside.  
  
 _Wyomin'. I know what the hell that means. Ain’t as good a liar as he thinks._  
  
The static abruptly stopped. “L D Newsome here. What can I do you for?”  
  
“Got somethin' to tell you.” The grip on the phone tightened. “Somethin' you should know.”  
  
“Who the hell is this?”   
  
_Let’s just see if he makes to Wyomin' safe and sound._  
  
“Got somethin' to tell you about…Jack Twist.”  
  
  
  



End file.
